


Frigid

by ExpectoPadoughnut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Grimmauld Place, snanger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectoPadoughnut/pseuds/ExpectoPadoughnut
Summary: Hermione's pissed off.





	Frigid

**Author's Note:**

> I'm freezing. Lying in bed, eight weeks post op, and staring at a bar of chocolate I've been resisting the last few days.

Hermione Granger fumed as she gathered lumps of snow, haphazardly raking small clumps of grass from the frozen ground. Her gloves were soaked through, the very fingertips ragged from scraping the earth beneath her soggy shoes. She was pissed.

_Ronald Bloody Weasley._ Her ears still burned from his frigid remark about her ‘frigid habits’, as he made sure to tell the entire room because he’d had one too many giggle waters. _Ronald Bloody Weasley._ She raked another clump of snow from the ground and patted it roughly together. 

“That snowman looks like it’s been through a lot.”

She dropped a handful of snow in surprise and pivoted around to look. Professor Snape leaned against the shed of Grimmauld Place, half shadowed by the sloping roof, hands shoved deep into his pocket, and an amused look on his usually formal face. She hesitated to reply, but turned her back with a grunt, and slapped another heap of snow onto her grass and mud covered creation. Hermione had never openly defied a teacher, but her temper was foul, and they were out of school hours, so frankly, she didn’t give a toss right now. 

“If it were me, I’d have broke Weasley’s nose,” said Snape, as casually as if they were friends. 

“I should have broken something else,” she grumbled, more to herself than him. 

It was his chuckle, so deep it was almost silent, that made her turn to stare. She had never seen him so casual, so human; free of his teaching robe, and clearly cold from the way white fog spiralled from his mouth. She couldn’t help crack a smirk to match his own. 

“Well, I should have,” she reiterated. “If only I weren’t so _frigid._ ” 

He scoffed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a thin white stick, and then a small silver ornament. He brought the slender stick to his mouth and flicked the ornament open; a flame erupted, and she did a double take.

“You smoke?” she blurted, instantly blushing. 

He lit the cigarette and snapped the silver zippo shut. After a deep drag, he nodded. “And you don’t?” he puffed, blowing a thick cloud of white smoke into the frosty night air. It mingled with his breath and disappeared into the night sky.

“No,” she gasped, eyes wide. “It’s...well, it’s one of the leading causes of premature aging and sickness in young people.”

Snape shrugged and took another defiant drag. She watched the red ash burn bright in the dim garden, listening intently to the soft crackle - inhale, pause, exhale. “I reckon this war will finish me off quicker than this roll of tobacco,” he told her, and she could hear the hint of a smile in his tone. 

“Don’t say that sir,” she muttered, turning to smooth over the uneven lumps of snow she had created. It was less than she had wanted to say, but there was more truth in those words than anyone was admitting these days. They were losing this war, and fast. Dumbledore was sick, Lupin was off on some secret mission and hadn’t been heard from in weeks, Harry was depressed after Sirius’ death, and Ron was his usual big headed oaf. 

“What do you intend to do about Weasley?” he asked. 

She could hear his boots on the fresh snow, crunching closer , and it made her nervous. The smell of smoke followed him. “Mint?” she asked, confused. 

He stubbed the cigarette out on her pathetic snowman, leaving the butt hanging out of its head, and smirked. “Muggle’s finest invention,” he said, pulling the packet from his pocket. “Menthols. Laced, of course, with a calming draught to keep my nerves off the edge after these order meetings.” He narrowed his eyes down his nose. “Not that I need to update _you_ , Ms Granger?”

She blushed and shrugged. “Extendable ears,” she admitted, pulling the Weasley Twins invention from her pocket. 

He fingered the product with an amused look. “Clever,” he remarked. 

She pocketed them and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly realising the cold. He was awfully close to her now. His breath curled around her own, the smell of mint mixing with hers; she was sure she smelled of butterbeer. In the limited light they had, Hermione couldn’t quite make out his expression, but she had never been this close to him before, and was sure that he was thinking the same. 

His mouth parted a fraction, and she held her breath, sure he would say something, anything. His lips were cracked in one corner, a small scab showing – a cold sore. She could have laughed at just how human he was in this moment. Her keen mind sorted through the usual imagery she associated with the Potions master: billowing robes, dank dungeons, cauldrons, and that grating sarcasm he was so accustomed to lashing out.

Then Harry’s voice echoed from the backdoor, and it cracked open to pool a beam of light across the back garden. She could see one side of Snape’s face in this new light; carved cheek bones, soft looking skin with a long day’s scruff growing through, and his eyes that weren’t as dark as she had thought. Instead, they were a deep and rich brown, with a hint of some feeling that sparkled in the corner. 

Harry’s voiced hollered again, and she narrowed her eyes and grumbled. “I’m coming!” she barked over Snape’s shoulder. Hermione turned back to smile. “Thanks,” she said softly, stepping around his tall frame and hurrying out of the cold. Ever curious, she looked over her shoulder before entering the old house, and saw him brush lank hair from his face, and scratch the back of his neck. With a quick pop, he had disappeared, and the snow had started to fall. 

Her ever keen mind sorted through the new images she had formed of her Potion’s master. The tall frame, but broad shoulders; the smell of smoke and mint that was not at all disgusting; the silver zippo lighter than he sleekly handled; the black scruff that dotted his strong jaw, and his eyes, that weren’t at all as dark as he had seemed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
